The Quiet Gentleman (12 page)

But a severe set-back awaited the Earl. When the musicians, under his private instructions, struck up for a waltz, no persuasions could prevail upon Marianne to stand up to dance. Her Mama’s instructions had been explicit: she might, if solicited to do so, dance the quadrille, but on no account must she waltz. Neither the Earl nor Lord Ulverston could induce her to contravene this prohibition: to be seen to waltz before she had received the accolade of the approval of the hostesses of Almack’s must set upon any débutante the indelible stigma of being a fast girl. Lady Bolderwood had foreseen the danger, and had guarded against it: although some licence might be permitted to a young lady making her appearance at a private ball, she was too shrewd not to know that there would be jealous matrons enough to report in influential circles that Miss Bolderwood was not quite the thing.

Marianne’s docility might disappoint her male admirers, but it did her no disservice in the eyes either of Lady St Erth or of her ladyship’s acquaintance. She was held to be a very modest girl by at least three mothers of promising daughters; and the most delightful, unaffected girl possible by those ladies anxious to marry their younger sons creditably.

Since Miss Morville happened to be standing beside Marianne when the Earl begged for the honour of her hand in the waltz, good manners compelled him to turn next to her. She accepted the offer with her usual composure, curtseying slightly, and allowing him to lead her on to the floor. Here she surprised him by proving herself to be an experienced dancer, very light on her feet, and so well-acquainted with the various steps that she performed them as though by instinct, and was able to converse sensibly while she did so. Under no illusions as to the value of the compliment paid her by her host in asking her to stand up with him while many ladies of more consequence awaited that honour, she said seriously: ‘If only you had mentioned the matter to me, I could have told you that there was no possibility of Miss Bolderwood’s waltzing, my lord, and then, you know, you need not have commanded the musicians to strike up for one.’

‘How do you know that I did so command them, ma’am?’ he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

‘Well,
I
did not, because Lady St Erth does not like to see it danced; and I am very sure Martin did not, because he has never learnt the steps.’

‘You are correct in your surmise,’ he acknowledged. ‘And I am going to bespeak another waltz. You dance delightfully, Miss Morville!’

‘I have had a great deal of practice,’ she said. ‘I am very much obliged to you for the courtesy, but I believe you ought rather to invite Lady Firth to dance with you.’

‘Miss Morville, you may manage the arrangements for the ball, but you shall not manage my conduct at it!’ he told her. ‘I have already stood up with Lady Firth for the boulanger, and I consider myself now at liberty to please myself. I hope you don’t mean to refuse me the pleasure of another waltz with you!’

Martin, meanwhile, had joined the small group of young ladies whose mamas, like Lady Bolderwood, did not sanction the waltz. If he could have done it, he would have detached Marianne from the fair bevy, but his arrival was greeted with so much delight by a damsel, just emerged from the schoolroom, and whom he had known all his life, that civility obliged him to remain talking to her for several minutes. By the time another gentleman came up to claim her notice, Lord Ulverston, escaping from the clutches of Lady Grampound, was seated beside Marianne, entertaining her with a few of the military anecdotes so much frowned on by the Dowager; and although Martin might hover jealously over Marianne he could not lure her attention away from her more amusing partner. He had had the forethought to engage her for supper, but whatever solace this might have afforded him was banished by the chance which set Ulverston upon her other hand at the table. Besides the long table in the centre of the saloon, several smaller tables had been set up, and it was at one of these that the two couples were seated. Martin, who had adjured Abney to keep the table free for him, was very soon regretting what had seemed at the time to be a piece of good strategy. The two parties naturally merged into one, and it would have been idle to deny that Lord Ulverston was the life and soul of it. This was bad, and still worse was it to perceive, a little later, that his lordship had won Marianne’s hand for the second time that evening. Martin felt quite indignant with her for yielding to the solicitations of one whom he was fast beginning to think a confirmed rake; and had the opportunity offered he would have been much inclined to have told her that her Mama would by no means approve of her standing up twice with the same gentleman. The ball had become an insipid affair; he wondered that his partner in the set could have so little to say for herself; and decided that dancing was a stupid business after all.

When the next set was formed, he had the happiness of leading Marianne into it, but no sooner had they gone down the dance than she had the misfortune to let her train slip a little from her hand. Lord Grampound, an energetic if not an inspired performer, lost no time in setting his foot upon one of its delicate lace flounces, so that Marianne was obliged to leave the set to effect a makeshift repair. She assured Martin, who was ready to knock his brother-in-law down for his clumsiness, that a couple of pins would set all to rights, and he at once escorted her to one of the saloons leading from the ballroom. This happened to be empty, and Marianne, well-knowing that to go to her bedchamber and to summon Betty to attend her there would be the work not of a minute but of half an hour, was content to let Martin pin up her lace for her. This he did, with the pins her Mama had warned her to provide herself with for just such an accident. Only a few inches of the lace had been ripped away from the satin, and the task was soon accomplished. Martin rose to his feet, and Marianne thanked him, complimenting him on his deftness, and laughing at the incident. The exercise of dancing had heightened the colour in her cheeks; her eyes sparkled with innocent enjoyment; and she looked so lovely that Martin lost his head, and so far forgot himself as to blurt out a declaration of his passion for her, and to try to take her in his arms.

She was quite unprepared for such a sudden turn, and not a little frightened. Demure flirtations she could enjoy, but the watchful care of Lady Bolderwood had warded off any offers for her hand, and she knew not how to quench the desperate ardour which confronted her. She could only retreat before Martin, saying in a fluttered voice: ‘No, no! Oh, pray do not!’

It was perhaps not surprising that he should have followed her, and grasped the hands she put out to hold him off; and he would certainly have kissed her, in despite of her faint shriek, had not his sister entered the saloon at that moment, accompanied by their half-brother. He was recalled to a sense of his surroundings by hearing Gervase sharply utter his name, and he swung round, a tide of colour flooding his face, and in his eyes an expression of oddly-mingled shame and fury.

Marianne was quite as discomposed as he, and stood trembling, her face averted to hide the sudden rush of startled tears to her eyes. Lady Grampound’s exclamation of: ‘Good gracious, what’s all this, pray?’ did nothing to soothe her agitation. She had no voice with which to speak even such few, disjointed words as rose to her lips; and it was with profound gratitude that she laid her shaking hand on the Earl’s arm. He had crossed the room, and was saying in his quiet way: ‘I came in search of you, for another set is forming, ma’am. I saw the sad accident which befell your gown, and I hope my brother has been of assistance in pinning up the lace.’

‘Oh, yes! So kind!’ she managed to say. ‘It is of no consequence – the tiniest rent!’

She went with him thankfully to the door, but here they were met by Lord Ulverston, who said, in a rallying tone: ‘Ger, you are a base fellow, and are trying to steal a march on me! Miss Bolderwood is promised to me for this dance! Unhand her, villain!’

He perceived as he spoke that she was suffering from some embarrassment. One swift glance round the room, if it did not put him in possession of the facts, at least informed him that Martin was in some way to blame for this; and with the ready address which sprang as much from good-nature as from goodbreeding he continued to rattle on in his droll style, accusing his friend of treachery, and insisting that he would very likely call him out for it in the morning.

‘No, no!’ said Gervase, ably seconding his efforts. ‘
That
would be a great breach of hospitality! If you can be so unmindful of your duty towards your host,
I
at least shall not forget my duty towards my guest!’

‘Humdudgeon, Ger! Miss Bolderwood, do not be taken in by these soft words! He played me just such a trick once in France, and was not for a moment at a loss to explain why he should not be punished for it! But, come! We shall find no places if we don’t make haste!’

The Earl relinquished her into his friend’s care, and she allowed herself to be led back into the ballroom. Gervase turned to look his brother up and down, and to say icily: ‘Have the goodness to preserve the appearance at least of a gentleman, Martin! These manners may do very well at a Covent Garden masquerade: they are out of place at Stanyon!’

‘How dare you?’ Martin ejaculated, starting forward a pace. ‘
You
are not to be the arbiter of my conduct!’

‘You are mistaken. I am the
only
arbiter of the conduct of those who live under my roof!’

‘Yes! You would like to be rid of me, would you not? You are afraid you have no chance with Marianne while I –’

‘We will leave Miss Bolderwood’s name out of this. I will not suffer any guest of mine to be insulted, least of all a girl entrusted to our protection! You should be ashamed of yourself!’

Since Martin was, in fact, very much ashamed of himself, this scathing remark made him angrier than ever. His sister then further exacerbated his temper by pronouncing in a pontifical tone strongly reminiscent of her mother: ‘I am bound to say that St Erth is perfectly in the right. Such behaviour, my dear brother, is not at all the thing. Grampound would be very much shocked.’

‘Grampound may go to the devil, and take you and St Erth with him!’ said Martin furiously.

‘Now, Martin, do not fly into one of your stupid puckers!’ recommended her ladyship. ‘You had better beg Miss Bolderwood’s pardon. I shall tell her that you are a trifle foxed.’

‘You will do no such thing! I want none of your curst meddling, Louisa, I thank you! I mean to marry Marianne!’

‘Possibly,’ said Gervase dryly, ‘but before you press attentions upon her which she appears to find unwelcome, you would be well-advised to obtain her father’s consent to your pretensions.’

‘Very true,’ agreed Lady Grampound. ‘It is no use to scowl, Martin, for St Erth’s observation is excessively just. When Grampound offered for me, it was not until dear Papa had assured him that he should not dislike the match for me. Indeed, until Mama informed me of it I had not a notion that Grampound was fallen passionately in love with me, for he behaved with the greatest propriety towards me, so that I am sure I thought he cared more for his dinner than for me!’

She laughed heartily at this recollection, but the only effect it had upon her young brother was to make him eye her with acute dislike, and to grip his lips so firmly together that they seemed no more than a thin line drawn across his face.

‘I am persuaded that Grampound did just as he ought,’ said Gervase gravely, but with a twitching lip. ‘Enough has been said, I think: we had better go back into the ballroom.’

‘Well, I have not said all I wish to!’ Martin shot at him. ‘You may stop talking to me as though I were a damned rake, just trifling with Marianne! It’s no such thing, and if you think I mean to await
your
permission before I ask her to marry me, you will discover your mistake!’

He was interrupted by the entrance of Theo, who came in, looking startled, and considerably shocked. He quickly shut the door behind him, saying: ‘Gervase! Martin! For God’s sake – ! Your voices can be heard in the ballroom! What is it?’

‘No concern of yours!’ replied Martin.

‘It is all Martin’s fault,’ explained Lady Grampound. ‘He has been behaving very badly, and now he will not own it! But so it is always with him! And Mama so much encourages him that Grampound says it is no wonder –’

Gervase intervened hastily: ‘Grampound is a very good sort of a man, Louisa, but I doubt whether Martin wants to be told of his sayings. Let Theo take you back to the ballroom! It will occasion too much remark if we all go together.’

‘I think it is you who had better accompany Lady Grampound,’ said Theo bluntly.

‘Nonsense! Martin and I have a little rubbed one another, but we are not going to come to fisticuffs, I assure you! Louisa, oblige me by not mentioning what has occurred to anyone! There is not the least occasion for you to speak of it even to Grampound.’

‘The person who
should
be told, is Mama,’ said her ladyship, gathering up her train. ‘However, I shall not do so, for she will never make the smallest push to remonstrate with Martin, and so it has always been!’

With these sisterly words, she accepted her cousin’s escort into the ballroom, where she proceeded to regale him, without loss of time, with the whole history of the episode.

Left alone with his half-brother, Gervase said in a more friendly tone: ‘Well, that was all very unfortunate, but it will be forgotten! If I spoke too warmly, I beg your pardon, but to be trying to kiss against her will a girl in Miss Bolderwood’s circumstances is the outside of enough, as well you know!’

His sensibilities as much lacerated by Marianne’s attempt to repulse him as by the lash of his own conscience, Martin was in no mood to accept an amende. He said in a shaking voice: ‘Damn you, leave me alone!’ and brushed past Gervase out of the saloon.

It was not to be expected that Miss Bolderwood could compose herself for slumber that night until she had poured forth the agitating events of the evening into her friend’s ears. Lord Ulverston’s kindness and good-humour had done much to calm her disturbed nerves, but these had been shocked, and would not readily recover. Since her schoolroom days she had almost never found herself alone with a man other than her Papa, for even when the Earl taught her to drive his curricle his groom had always been perched up behind the carriage. The anxious care of her parents had wrapped her about; and although her disposition led her to flirt with her many admirers it had never occurred to her innocent mind that these tactics might lead them, on the first occasion when they found her unprotected, to take shocking advantage of her levity. Her spirits were quite borne down by the discovery; and she was much inclined to think herself a fast girl, with whom gentlemen thought it proper to take liberties.

Miss Morville, however, received her confidences with admirable calm and common-sense. While agreeing that it was no doubt disagreeable to be found in such an embarrassing situation, she maintained that it was no matter for wonder that Martin should have so far forgotten himself. ‘If you
will
be so pretty, Marianne, and flirt so dreadfully, what can you expect?’

‘Oh, I was never so mortified! I had not the least notion he would try to do such a thing!’

‘Well, he should not, of course, but he is very young, after all, and I daresay he is ashamed of it now,’ said Miss Morville consolingly. ‘If I were you, I would not refine too much upon the incident!’

‘How can you talk so? He behaved as though I were – as though I were the veriest
drab
!’ She saw that Miss Morville was looking amused, and added indignantly: ‘Drusilla, how can you be so insensible?
You
must have felt it as I do!’

‘Perhaps I might,’ acknowledged Miss Morville. ‘I don’t
think
I should, but the melancholy truth is that no one has ever shown the smallest desire to kiss me!’

‘I envy you!’ declared Marianne. ‘I wish I knew how I am to face Martin at breakfast tomorrow! I cannot do it!’

‘Oh, there will not be the smallest difficulty!’ Miss Morville pointed out. ‘It is tomorrow already, and if you partake of breakfast at all it will be in this room, and not until many hours after the gentlemen have eaten theirs.’

This practical response was not very well-received, Marianne saying rather pettishly that Drusilla seemed not to enter into her feelings at all, and pointing out that whether it was at the breakfast-table or at the dinner-table her next meeting with Martin must cause her insupportable embarrassment.

‘I daresay it will cause him embarrassment too,’ observed Miss Morville, ‘so the sooner you have met, and can put it all behind you, the easier you will be.’

‘If only I might go home!’ Marianne said.

‘Well, and so you will, in a day or two. To run away immediately would be to give rise to the sort of comment I am sure you would not like; and, you know, you can scarcely continue to reside in the same neighbourhood without encountering Martin.’

There could be no denying the good-sense of this remark. Marianne shed a few tears; and after animadverting indignantly on Martin’s folly, effrontery, and ill-breeding, turned from the contemplation of his depraved character to dwell with gratitude on the exquisite tact and kindness of Lord Ulverston.

‘I can never be sufficiently obliged to him!’ she declared. ‘I am persuaded he cannot have remained in ignorance of my distress, for I was so much mortified I could scarcely speak, and as for meeting his gaze, it was wholly beyond my power! I was ready to sink for fear he should ask me what was the matter, but he never did! There was something so
very
kind in the way he offered me his arm, and took me to drink a glass of lemonade, saying it was insufferably hot in the ballroom, and should I not like to go where it was cooler? And then, you know, we talked of all manner of things, until I was comfortable again, and I do think there was never anyone more good-natured.’

Miss Morville was very ready to encourage her in these happier reflections; and by dint of pointing out how sad it would be for Marianne to leave Stanyon before she had become better acquainted with his lordship, soon prevailed upon her to abandon this scheme. If her young friend’s artless panegyric left her with the suspicion that an embrace from the Viscount would have awakened no outraged feelings in her breast, this was a thought which she was wise enough to keep to herself.

Marianne was sure that she would be unable to close her eyes for what remained of the night. However that might have been, they were very peacefully closed for long after Miss Morville had left her bedchamber later in the morning. Miss Morville peeped into her room, but Marianne did not stir, and she left her to have her sleep out.

Only the gentlemen appeared at the breakfast-table, but by eleven o’clock most of the ladies had come downstairs from their rooms, including Lady Grampound, who seemed to have risen for no other purpose than to ensure that her sons were given rides by Martin. Upon his not unreasonably demurring at this demand, compliance with which must remove him from the Castle before any of the visitors had departed, she said that to oblige his nephews was the least he could do: an oblique reference to his misconduct which provoked him into replying that if giving rides to her brats would make her departure from Stanyon that day a certainty he would be happy to do it.

By noon, all the ball-guests except the Grampounds had left the Castle, and the Dowager was free to discuss the evening’s festivity with anyone so unwise as to approach her chair, to congratulate herself upon the excellence of the supper, and to enumerate all the guests who had been particularly gratified to have received invitations. In this innocuous amusement she was joined by her daughter, who could not conceive of greater bliss for her fellow-creatures than to find themselves at Stanyon, and who had further cause for complacence in having had her gown admired by the Duchess. The tempestuous entrance into the room of Harry and John, bursting to tell their Mama about the rides they had enjoyed, caused an interruption. Conversation became impossible, for when they had stopped shouting their news in unison to Lady Grampound they fell out over the rights of primogeniture, Harry contending that to ransack the contents of Grandmama’s netting-box was his privilege, and Johnny very hotly combating such a suggestion.

‘Dear little fellows!’ said the Dowager. ‘They would like to play a game, I daresay. How much they enjoyed playing at spillikins with dear Marianne yesterday!’

‘Yes, indeed, Mama, but pray do not put it into their heads to do so again, for I told them they must not tease Miss Bolderwood to repeat her kindness.’

Marianne, who was engaged in restoring its contents to the netting-box, took the hint. She insisted that she would be very happy to play with the children, and went away to find the spillikins, while Lady Grampound informed her offspring of the treat in store for them. By the time Marianne returned, peace had been restored, even Johnny’s yells at being shrewdly kicked by his brother having ceased at the sight of a box of sugarplums.

When Martin presently came into the room with Lord Ulverston, Marianne was too much engrossed with the game to accord him more than a brief, shy greeting. He said awkwardly that it was a particularly fine day, so that he thought she might care to walk in the shrubbery before luncheon was served. She declined it, and a moment later he had the mortification of seeing Ulverston join the spillikin-party, and receive a very welcoming smile and blush.

The Grampounds were to leave Stanyon during the afternoon, and while the party sat round the table in one of the saloons, eating cold meat and fruit, Lord Grampound expressed a wish to visit a house in the neighbourhood which he had some thought of hiring for the accommodation of his family during the summer months. This led his wife to explain in detail the extensive improvements which were to be put in hand at Grampound Manor, the fatal effects of Brighton air upon Harry’s liverish constitution, and her own ardent desire to spend the summer within reach of Stanyon. The Dowager, loftily disregarding her stepson’s claims to be consulted in the matter, at once invited her daughter to come to Stanyon itself, and to remain there for as long as she pleased, an invitation which her ladyship would certainly have accepted had Lord Grampound not intervened to say with great firmness that he preferred to hire a house of his own.

‘I daresay it may be best, my love,’ agreed his wife. ‘Not but what it would be pleasant for Mama to have the children at Stanyon for a really long stay, and I am sure I do not know where they would be happier. However, I do not mean to be setting myself up in opposition, and it shall be as you wish. The only thing is that I do not perfectly recollect the way to Kentham. Martin, you shall ride with Grampound as far as the house, for I am persuaded you must know how best to reach it, and then we can see it together, and you will be back at Stanyon in time for dinner.’

This cool disposal of his time exasperated Martin into saying: ‘A delightful scheme, Louisa, but I have something else to do this afternoon!’

‘Nonsense! what can you possibly have to do?’ she replied. ‘You only wish to be disobliging, and may very well go with us, if you choose.’

He was silent.

Lord Grampound cleared his throat. ‘I should be happy to have Martin’s company on the road, but if he does not care to go with us, I shall refrain from pressing him.’

Martin was still silent, and Gervase, feeling that he had borne enough, interposed, saying: ‘If you will accept my escort, Grampound, I shall be glad to go with you. I don’t promise to lead you aright, but I fancy I have a general notion of where Kentham lies.’

His lordship accepted this offer. Martin was conscious of a feeling of gratitude, which, however, was speedily dispelled by his sister, who read him a homily on conduct, and ended by drawing an unflattering comparison between his manners and those of his brother.

‘You may as well stop prosing to me!’ he said hastily, thrusting back his chair from the table. ‘St Erth is perfection itself, of course! If you toad-eat him enough I daresay he will second my mother’s invitation to you to spend the summer at Stanyon!’

‘Be quiet, you young fool!’ said Theo, under his breath.

‘Don’t disturb yourself! I’m going!’ Martin snapped, and flung himself out of the room.

Marianne could not doubt that his refusal to accompany the Grampounds arose from his determination to engage her in private conversation. He had made two attempts already to detach her from the rest of the party, and since she did not know what to say to him if he offered her an apology, or how to repulse him if he tried to renew his love-making, she was thrown into a flutter of nerves, and so earnestly begged Miss Morville not to leave her side for an instant that Drusilla, who had meant to walk across the Park to her own home, to perform some few duties there, was obliged to abandon her design. Until the Grampounds took their departure, everyone lingered in the Castle, but when, not more than an hour later than had been intended, and after only two false starts, the coaches, preceded by the Earl and his brother-in-law on horseback, at last passed under the Gate-tower, and bowled away through the Park, there was nothing to keep the remaining company within doors any longer. Miss Morville suggested the refreshment of a walk in the shrubbery to Marianne, and thither they repaired, enjoying the bright spring sunshine, and talking over such aspects of the ball as Marianne could bear to recall without pain. The painful episode, however, was bound to obtrude, and although a night’s repose had to a great extent soothed Marianne’s more exaggerated reflections, she confided in Miss Morville that although she had previously thought her Mama very old-fashioned to allow her to go nowhere without her chaperonage, she
now
saw how dangerous it was for a female to be alone with a young man.

After they had been walking about the paths for a little while, they were joined by Lord Ulverston. He had an arm for both ladies, but it was not long before Miss Morville perceived herself to be unnecessary either to his comfort or to Marianne’s. She ventured to suggest that she should leave them, to go on her interrupted errand to Gilbourne House. Beyond saying: ‘Must you go indeed? You will be so tired, after dancing all night!’ Marianne made no objection. The dangers attached to finding herself alone with a young man were forgotten; and since Miss Morville had perfect confidence in Lord Ulverston’s ability to keep whatever ardour he might feel within the bounds of the strictest propriety, she had no hesitation in leaving him to entertain her friend.

She was met at Gilbourne House by the housekeeper, who had a great many problems to lay before her, and a great many grievances to pour into her ears. Not the least of these was the shocking ingratitude, selfishness, and duplicity of one of the maids, who, having been given permission to spend a night at her own home in the village, had, instead of returning in good time upon the following morning, sent up a message to the house that she had had the misfortune to sprain her ankle, and could not set her foot to the ground. As the village lay a mile beyond Gilbourne House, it was not to be expected that stout Mrs Buxton could go there to verify the truth of this message: but she informed Miss Morville darkly that she had always suspected the errant damsel of flightiness.

Miss Morville did not share this suspicion, but she promised to visit Kitty’s home, for she had a strong sense of duty, and had been bred up by her progressive parents to think the well-being of her dependents particularly her concern.

So after a slight argument with Mrs Buxton, who, by no means as progressive as her master and mistress, desired her not to go to the village without taking a manservant with her to act as escort, and to carry her basket, Miss Morville set out to visit the sufferer.

She found the case to be exactly as had been stated, poor Kitty’s ankle being very much swollen. Her offerings of arnica, eggs, and a cheese wrested from Mrs Buxton’s jealously guarded storeroom, were accepted with thanks, and some doubt, Kitty’s mother being of the unshakable opinion that nothing could do more good to sprains, sores, chilblains, and a variety of other ills, than goose-fat, well rubbed in. But a visit from Miss Morville was at once an honour and a pleasure. She must be taken into the tiny parlour, regaled with juniper wine, and the whole history of Kitty’s accident, and thanked again and again for her condescension. The hour was consequently rather far advanced when Drusilla at last left the cottage, and it was beginning to be dusk. She had only a little way to walk, however, before she was able to enter the Park, by one of its subsidiary gates. An avenue led from the gate to the stables, and the kitchen-court, but it was circuitous, and the quickest way was through the Home Wood, by one of the pleasant rides which led to the main avenue.